


sect-cunt-sempra; or, ferdinand von aegir and the professor-she-boned

by qwertyuiop678



Series: english hubert, socal ferdinand [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Betaed for Cultural Sensitivity, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom Hubert von Vestra, Dom/sub, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Genderbending, JKR sux no transphobes here, Jewish Hubert, Light Bondage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sub Ferdinand von Aegir, Teacher/Student Roleplay, Vaginal Fingering, Verbal Humiliation, bratty sub!ferdie, harry potter roleplay sex (italicized)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28414377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwertyuiop678/pseuds/qwertyuiop678
Summary: Somewhere in the void between Christmas and New Year’s, Hubert found the time to readHarry Potterfrom beginning to end. Ferdinand observed this development with trepidation and curiosity both.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Series: english hubert, socal ferdinand [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2028565
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	sect-cunt-sempra; or, ferdinand von aegir and the professor-she-boned

**Author's Note:**

> This fic comes to you because my wonderful beta [@featherhearted](https://twitter.com/feather_hearted?s=20) said 'snapewife ferdinand' and the concept has haunted me ever since, hanging over my head like the sword of Damocles, if the sword of Damocles was the neon pink glitter pen Ferdinand probably used to write her Snape fanfiction. That's my excuse for lying when I said I wasn't going to write more smut until 2021. Go check out her AO3 [@featherhearted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/featherhearted/pseuds/featherhearted) for even more villainsexual Ferdinand content, and to find out more about Lavie, Hubert's long-suffering aide! You won't regret it. 
> 
> Thank you as well to [@phichithamsters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phichithamsters/pseuds/phichithamsters) for the additional beta and to @vanvii for being wonderfully encouraging as always, and for your truly cursed commentary.

It was November, the weather properly cold and wet. Much nicer than the Novembers in suburban Los Angeles had been, bone dry and entirely too warm until the barest smattering of freezing rain overwhelmed the poorly designed gutter system and left everyone’s socks wet. Hubert had a stack of midterms to grade – or perhaps more accurately, to hand to her TA, Lavie, for grading. Ferdinand would probably scold her for it when she found out and then invite Lavie and the other grad students to dinner. As far as Hubert was concerned, her debts were already paid by giving them Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur off. But if delegating and a dinner meant she could take a Sunday to spend time with Ferdinand, that was a sacrifice she was willing to make.

Even half a year later, their little house was still looking a tad bare, so Ferdinand had dragged Hubert along on another antiquing expedition. Hubert liked spending time with her wife and was particularly fond of watching Ferdinand’s eyes light up at the sight of rusty 19th century household appliances for which even a museum would have trouble finding a use. But neither did she particularly care what their interiors looked like, so long as the house was neatly organized.

Mostly, Hubert was just happy to see the last of that janky IKEA table from Craigslist. No matter what they tried, one leg was somehow always slightly too short. It was hopefully going to be a long and blissful wedded life of never spilling good coffee over it again.

Ferdinand, though—

Ferdinand had a Pinterest page for everything. She had one that was just titled ‘Horses <3’ (it was exactly what it sounded like). There was a set of boards for historical armor, organized by region and time period, and another for operas. The ones for their wedding had been lovely, though they involved a lot more pictures of vaguely haunted-looking castles than was strictly within their combined budgets as a grad student and a development associate for a local arts organization.

Those all paled compared to the Pinterest board for their house.

Even before they were dating, Ferdinand had been collecting pictures of anything she thought she might like in her eventual home. It had evolved somewhat over the years, but the general aesthetic was something Dorothea described as “the interior of Howl’s Moving Castle meets lesbian Saddle Club.” After a year or two of dating Hubert, pictures of mezuzahs and ketubot began to make their way into what was rapidly becoming an absolute behemoth of a Pinterest page.

“The whole dark wood and fancy wallpaper thing suits you both,” Dorothea had said. “I mean, obviously Ferdie’s into that, but it all kind of goes with Hubie’s whole uptight British professor vibe too, doesn’t it, Edie?”

Once they had started looking for a property to purchase, that page had been subdivided meticulously into a board for every room – kitchen, bathroom, living room, upstairs bathroom, bedroom, balcony, pantry, et cetera. There was even one for the few square feet of concrete that passed as their tiny backyard. Some aspects were still more aspirational than others, but Hubert was looking forward to making the vision come together under Ferdinand’s brilliant direction.

“Oh, Hubert, look!” Ferdinand pulled her in by the elbow to look at a wooden lectern, designed to be placed atop a table.

Hubert made a noise of acknowledgement. “The polish is nice.”

“It is, is it not? And the color is gorgeous, and the design is so stately!” Ferdinand gushed. “We should purchase it.”

Hubert tilted her head to look curiously at her wife. “Why?”

“To celebrate your professorship!”

“We already did,” Hubert said, as confused as she was gratified by Ferdinand’s eagerness. “Besides, all the classrooms and labs have lecterns already, as do all the lecture halls.”

“This one is collapsible! What if you have to go somewhere else and give a lecture? This would be perfect.”

Hubert chuckled. “I think I will survive if for some reason I have to give a guest lecture without a lectern. Besides, think about the storage space. Our house is roomy now but give it a year and it will be just as cluttered as our last apartment.”

Ferdinand turned up her nose with supreme dignity, as she did when she knew she had lost but refused to be argued down. “Well, like I said, it is collapsible, so it will not take up that much room. Trust me, dear, this purchase is in your best interest.”

\---

About a month later, at the first—hopefully of many—seasonal potlucks with all the Black Eagles, Hubert did not exchange presents, but she did receive a clear hint about exactly why Ferdinand was so insistent on keeping the folding lectern.

It was actually the first such celebration to happen with all of the Black Eagles in person. Caspar and Linhardt had the biggest house by dint of being very far away from downtown, so they were hosting. There was no tree, out of respect for Hubert and for Petra, who simply found Christmas trees wasteful. Also, Caspar couldn’t be trusted to not somehow light it on fire, nor could Linhardt be arsed to stop him.

Where a Christmas tree might have gone, Caspar maintained a complex cat tree setup. It hadn’t started out like that—Hubert remembered the pictures from when it had just been purchased—but it seemed to gain a new DIY component between every visit. Hubert wasn’t even sure how a single cat was meant to engage with all of it. The enormous tabby didn’t seem to mind though, fast asleep in some kind of knapsack bed suspended above the living room.

Resigned to the fact that the cat tree was not going to make any more sense after fifteen minutes of trying to understand where the support beams connected, Hubert rejoined Linhardt on their longitudinal study of how many latkes their respective partners were capable of putting away in one sitting.

“It’s _highly_ scientific, Edelgard, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, we’re writing it down and everything.” Linhardt waved a lazy hand at the Pizza Hut flyer they were taking tallies on. “Writing it down makes fucking around science.”

“That still looks an awful lot like fucking around to me,” Edelgard said. “And like Caspar might throw up if he doesn’t stop soon.”

“You say that every time, but not once has it actually happened,” Hubert pointed out. She idly marked another tally for Ferdinand. “You’d better eat a few yourself before they’re all gone.”

All told, it was a very cobbled-together kind of holiday tradition. Hanukkah hadn’t been a huge deal for her growing up—they’d lit the menorah and said the blessings, and the entire flat would smell like latke for days afterwards, because that tended to happen with latkes. But after a decade of living in the United States, Hubert came to appreciate Hanukkah’s merits as a ward against the relentless onslaught of obnoxious Christmas everything. First-year undergraduate Hubert, stricken with a sudden and acute bout of homesickness, had wandered almost by accident into the midnight latke break held at the end of every fall semester, courtesy of the college’s Hillel club. From then on, latke night had been adopted into the Black Eagles’ annual rotation of campus events.

Four years later, Ferdinand was newly disowned and sleeping on Hubert and Edelgard’s couch.

“I’ll get the takeout menu from the Bengali place,” Edelgard had said, staring at the charred ruins of their meager cooking equipment. It was a miracle Ferdinand hadn’t set off the fire alarm.

“No need.” Ferdinand glumly handed it over. “I will clean the pots.”

“What did you even _do_?” Hubert picked up the remains of their nonstick frying pan by the handle, morbidly curious.

“Do not,” muttered Ferdinand, now resting her head on the tile countertop. “I am in no mood for sniping. It is almost Christmas, and nothing is working, and I will—I do not know, I will commit arson, on purpose this time, or something drastic, if I have to think any more about—” here she paused, unable to muster words, and waved a morose hand instead, “everything.”

Hubert had wisely desisted. A few days later, Ferdinand had burst into their apartment with a manic energy, sans nearly all of the ginger hair that had reportedly been the pride of many an Aegir charity gala, and suggested that the three of them start volunteering. So that became tradition too, alongside Hubert’s newly purchased and very flimsy menorah.

Drunken Harry Potter rants were less a tradition and more a general hazard of both Ferdinand and Bernadetta getting tipsy at the same time. It had all started while Ferdinand was in the middle of assembling a delicious-looking kosher chicken pot pie and having a lively discussion with Bernadetta and Petra about other types of pastries.

“Have you had mincemeat?” Ferdinand asked. “Isn’t it—"

“—absolutely disgusting? Exactly,” Petra said. “You understand me. I thought it would taste like barbecued pork buns, but with a pastry crust.”

“I know!” Bernie complained. “Harry Potter always made mincemeat sound like it tasted good! But it’s just some weird gross sugary raisin bullshit! That’s not a good flavor profile!”

“Harry Potter misled us on many fronts, Bernadetta,” Ferdinand said, absolutely solemn. “On mincemeat, and on countless other subjects.”

“I will stop you right there,” Petra said. “I would love to continue complaining about terrible British food, but it’s only seven-thirty and that is too early for the Harry Potter rant.”

“I do not _rant_ —” Ferdinand began, outraged.

“—not sober, you don’t,” Hubert said. “Also, mincemeat pies have evolved to be significantly less disgusting in the last two hundred years. They used to have actual meat in them.”

“Do not try to defend British food,” Petra said. “It is not worth it.”

“As a whole, yes, but back me up here, Edelgard, _fish pie—"_

Despite everyone’s best attempts at moderating the discussion, a few drinks later, Ferdinand and Bernadetta were in a sustained feedback loop of yelling about Harry Potter that resisted all attempts to steer the conversation anywhere else.

“I mean, of _course_ the Slytherins all end up being Death Eaters, if you were eleven years old, raised on blood purity, and then funneled into a House full of other children who were raised on the same terrible principles, and then even the _teachers_ treated you like you were evil, _how were they meant to learn otherwise?_ ”

“Ugh, _exactly!”_

“Rowling’s treatment of Professor Binns in the series is symbolic of her complete disrespect for the discipline of history, which only exacerbates the various forms of homophobia, transphobia, racism, and anti-Semitism in her attempts at larger worldbuilding, in this essay I will—"

“Go _off_ , Ferdinand!”

That was the cue to surrender the living room to the drunken Potterheads. A few hours later, when the rest of the party had started to wind down, Hubert and Edelgard went back in to pacify them.

“And the way Hermione’s activism is treated—”

“Don’t even get me _started_ on S.P.E.W.—"

Hubert gently plucked Ferdinand’s wineglass from her hand and replaced it with a tall glass of water. “I think you’ve had enough.”

Ferdinand blinked very slowly at the cup of water, as though wondering how it got there. Then she noticed Hubert and her whole face lit up. “Hubert! Darling!”

Hubert put out a hand to stop Ferdinand before she could tilt headfirst out of the armchair going after a kiss. “Drink your water first.”

Ferdinand pouted and drank her water, tilting her head back and chugging it at a slightly alarming rate. “Now?”

Hubert let Ferdinand plant a clumsy kiss on her cheek. “You too, Bernadetta,” she said, using her superior height to keep the wine bottle out of Bernadetta’s grasp. This was no small task when Ferdinand, nearly a hundred and eighty pounds of muscle, had simultaneously decided it was time to cling like a limpet to Hubert’s other arm. “It is not worth it to get this soused over J. K. Rowling.”

“You can’t tell me what to do, Hubert!” Bernie yelled, doing her level best to climb the back of the couch and take the alcohol back.

Edelgard pulled her back down and put a glass of water in her hand. “True, we cannot tell you what to do, but as a bit of advice from your loving friends, it really is in your best interest to drink some water now.”

Bernadetta grumpily complied.

“Hubert,” Ferdinand said, very slowly, “Hubert, you’ve really never read _Harry Potter_? It’s—it’s the cultural touchstone of our generation! One of the three things that define millennials – crushing college debt, avocado toast, and being obsessed with _Harry Potter_.”

“American millennials, you mean, because the system of higher education in this country is broken.”

“But—you’re British,” Ferdinand mumbled, slightly too drunk to pick up the rant on college debt. That made sense, considering she was definitely drunk enough to forget that Hubert only knew about Harry Potter by cultural osmosis. One might argue for literal osmosis too, if one was surnamed Gautier and too stupid to live.

“Yes, and?”

“Harry Potter is British!” This was said like it was a breakthrough.

“The secret magic British boarding school thing is a lot less exciting when you know what actual boarding school is like. And actual Britain.”

“Still,” Ferdinand said. “For me?”

Ferdinand was probably going to regret that when she was sober.

\---

Somewhere in the void between Christmas and New Year’s, Hubert found the time to read _Harry Potter_ from beginning to end. Ferdinand observed this development with trepidation and curiosity both.

Her wife closed Bernadetta’s hardcover copy of _Deathly Hallows_ , brow furrowed in a pensive frown.

“Hm,” Hubert said.

“So, what did you think?” Ferdinand asked.

“Well, it certainly ended.” Hubert closed her eyes and blinked quickly as though to clear her vision. “It was about what I expected, although based on everything I have heard from you and Bernadetta over the years, I thought it would be several degrees worse than it was.”

“Most of the horror comes from looking back on it as an adult, I think.” Ferdinand determinedly did not let herself linger on the epilogue. “That and the author showing herself to be incredibly transphobic.”

Hubert made a noise of vague agreement, distracted somewhat as she slid the book and her reading glasses safely onto the bedside dresser. Then she turned back to Ferdinand and leaned close, smirking. “Now, who did you say was your favorite character again?”

“It was— _don’t_ laugh, I can see you laughing—it was Snape.” Ferdinand crossed her arms. “But you already knew that, dear.”

Hubert tapped her graceful fingers against her chin, the corner of her lips quirking upwards. “I see. Do you think that shaped your later interests in any way? Perhaps in the direction of misanthropic, sharp-tongued British professors with disheveled black hair?”

“I was fourteen!” Scowling, Ferdinand pushed her laughing wife over onto the mattress. “Clearly my taste was lacking.”

“Far be it for me to complain if it was,” Hubert said, making sure to pull Ferdinand down with her. She kissed Ferdinand’s pout. “Not when I have been so fortunate as to have you.”

“Well, I suppose my taste wasn’t _all_ bad,” Ferdinand grumbled against Hubert’s lips, somewhat mollified by the achingly sweet words. “Your hair has been significantly less greasy since you started keeping it shorter.”

“Cutting,” Hubert said, smiling her darling crooked smile.

Ferdinand kissed her this time. Hubert kissed back, stroking her fingers languidly through Ferdinand’s hair. They got lost in each other for a long while like that, as tended to happen.

“I liked McGonagall quite a lot as well,” Ferdinand murmured, after the lights were off and her head was resting on Hubert’s chest. “A woman of noble bearing, also with black hair.”

“Indeed,” Hubert hummed. Ferdinand could hear her grinning. “But you didn’t write reams of fanfiction about Professor McGonagall now, did you?”

Ferdinand didn’t need to see to reach behind herself, grab a pillow, and whack it directly into Hubert’s laughing face.

\---

“According to my wife,” Hubert said, on the first day of the spring semester, “I am, quote, ‘pushing those poor graduate students too hard,’ end quote. As such, she has graciously invited you all to dinner at our house. I have emailed you all the link to a Google Form. RSVP accordingly and let us know whether you have any dietary restrictions.”

“Is this to poison me for asking for another extension on my thesis?” she heard one student hiss to Lavie on the way out of the seminar room.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lavie muttered back. “If Professor Vestra was going to poison us, she would never telegraph it like this.”

“Don’t sound so hopeful,” Hubert said, amused by the way both their spines went ramrod straight. “None of you are getting out of your dissertations that easily.”

\---

Ferdinand thought Hubert’s foray into Harry Potter would end with the holiday season, but that was not the case.

A plate slipped out of Ferdinand’s grasp, clattering to the bottom of the sink against the other dishes.

“Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Aegir,” Hubert intoned out of nowhere. Ferdinand almost dropped the plate again. Her wife only chuckled and kissed the tip of Ferdinand’s ear, wrapping her arms around Ferdinand and interlacing her fingers. “And another twenty if I find water marks or fingerprints on the wineglasses.”

Ferdinand made a distressed noise as the words registered and mashed her face into her forearms, since her hands were covered in suds. At least Hubert had waited until the grad students were gone.

“Hubert,” she whined, lowering her arms and tilting her head backwards. “Don’t _do_ that!”

She could feel the curve of Hubert’s lips against her ear, could hear the smirk in her voice. “What, this? What am I doing?”

“Don’t _say_ things like that!”

“Like what?”

Damn her and her sense of humor. “You know what you did! Don’t make me repeat it!”

Hubert chuckled again and left one last kiss on Ferdinand’s temple before letting go to stand beside Ferdinand at the sink. She busied herself with rolling up her sleeves and squeezing a dollop of soap into her palm. “Thank you for hosting my students.”

“Of course!” Ferdinand said. “I was glad to meet them.” She passed Hubert the faucet head. “But really, what _have_ you been doing to those poor souls? They barely ate.”

\---

Ferdinand was drifting peacefully into sleep, lulled by the pleasant warmth of her wife’s body and the blanket atop them both. “I love you,” she mumbled.

She felt the press of Hubert’s lips on the crown of her head. “ _Always_ ,” Hubert rasped.

Only a moment ago, keeping her eyes open for the last ten minutes of the movie had seemed like such a chore. But now, fueled by pure indignation, Ferdinand was wide awake and bolting upright for one of the pillows on the other end of the couch. As she did so, she could feel Hubert trembling underneath her with badly suppressed amusement.

“Ferdinand—” Hubert began, laughing even as she raised her hands over her head to shield herself from Ferdinand’s pillowy assault.

“Do not!” Ferdinand scolded, straddling her wife, and brought down her weapon with a satisfying _whump_. “Even! Get! Me! Started!”

Hubert kept laughing under the flurry of blows, barely able to defend herself. Eventually she managed to pull herself together enough to catch the pillow and toss it to the side, grinning. Her short hair was tousled and her eyes merry, and if Ferdinand had not been quite so irate, she would have leaned down to kiss her.

As it was, Ferdinand crossed her arms and glared. “I am sleeping on the couch tonight,” she announced, even as Hubert sat up to wrap her in a loose embrace.

“Isn’t the person in the doghouse usually the one banished to the couch?”

“You’re too tall to sleep comfortably on the couch.” Ferdinand sniffed. “But you see, I am magnanimous even when wronged.”

“I thought it was funny,” Hubert protested.

Ferdinand pointed imperiously to the bedroom. “Not at all! Begone with you, foul creature.”

Hubert’s lips broke from their slight frown into a familiar shit-eating smirk. “Don’t you mean _Expecto patronum_?”

“ _Hubert!”_

\---

Ferdinand woke up the next day to the heavenly smell of fresh waffles, strawberry jam, and perfectly brewed black tea, as well as a contrite Hubert armed with a hot compress and massage gun for the crick in her neck.

“I am sorry for making excessive fun of your lingering crush on Severus Snape,” Hubert said, when the crick was gone. She was lounging on the rug, leaning against the coffee table, and watching Ferdinand eat breakfast-in-bed on the couch.

Ferdinand hastily swallowed her bite of waffle and opened her mouth, offended. “It is not _lingering_ —”

“That being said, would you be interested in roleplay?”

Ferdinand could almost hear the record-scratch noise as she stared at Hubert, her cup of tea frozen halfway to her mouth. Her mouth worked soundlessly a few times. “What?”

“Roleplay,” Hubert said, by all appearances serious about it, even if the corner of her lip was twitching a little. “Are you really going to argue that you wouldn’t enjoy it?”

Ferdinand very carefully set the teacup back in the saucer. Then she put the whole thing back on the coffee table. Hot water thus secured, she put her head in her hands. “Yes,” she said, enunciating as clearly as she could, “because I am an adult woman with good taste who does not have _Harry Potter roleplay sex_.”

“How boring,” Hubert sighed—still amused, curse her. “I thought you wanted me to warn you if you were in ever in danger of becoming stodgy, in bed or otherwise. I have to say, at the time I outright dismissed the possibility because it sounded so absurd, coming from you, whose libido is an unerring predictor of fictional villainy. But,” she paused, sighing again and even more theatrically, “perhaps I was premature in that judgement.”

“I—we are _not_ having this conversation. This is a bizarre fever dream from eating one of your terrible caffeinated energy snacks. Hubert von Vestra is not asking me, in real life, if I want to have _Harry Potter roleplay sex_ on a Sunday morning.”

“Why not, if you enjoy it?”

Ferdinand let her hands fall into her lap. “I am not going to _enjoy_ having _Harry Potter roleplay sex_ ,” she said, staring at her open palms for succor. Finding none, she looked back up at Hubert.

“Really?” Hubert’s eyebrows were raised. “Am I hearing correctly? You, Ferdinand von Aegir, are claiming that you would not enjoy—"

“— _Harry Potter roleplay sex?_ Whatever gave you the idea in the first place?”

“…You keep saying it, not me. Also, what do you mean, ‘whatever gave you the idea in the first place?’ Are you not a person who strives for self-awareness?”

“Yes, the self-awareness to know that I am not the kind of person who is into _Harry Potter roleplay sex!”_

“Ferdinand,” Hubert said, very serious, and placed one elegant hand on Ferdinand’s knee, “if I am incorrect, I promise you will get to hear me say those three little words more sincerely and fervently than you have ever heard me say them – ‘You were right.’”

\---

Excerpted from Hubert’s search history over the next few days:

  * cape
  * velvet cape
  * cloak etsy
  * brooch
  * cloak clasp
  * snape wand
  * harry potter cauldron
  * copper cauldron
  * dry ice
  * harry potter potions



\---

It was nearly spring break by the time Hubert announced that she had assembled all the component parts—none of which she had allowed Ferdinand to see ahead of time—and banished Ferdinand from the house so that she could set up in peace.

“Because you so helpfully pointed out that Muggle technology does not work in Hogwarts,” Hubert said, dryly, when Ferdinand looked outside to see Lavie standing on the sidewalk with a rolling chalkboard, evidently wishing she could have been doing anything else with her weekend.

Ferdinand did her best to bid Lavie a good morning without spontaneously combusting from mortification and sent the student away with a loaf of yesterday’s homemade focaccia for the trouble.

An hour or so of grocery shopping later, Ferdinand had almost managed to forget about that crippling embarrassment. She opened the front door and shuffled sideways into the house, careful not to let the canvas totes swing into the doorframe. After she checked to make sure the door had closed and locked properly, she made her awkward way into the house until she could leave the groceries in their designated spot tucked against the back wall.

Sighing in relief, Ferdinand rolled out her shoulders, back, and neck, eyes closed so that she could concentrate fully on feeling the stretch. She turned, shaking out her arms next, and froze.

Ferdinand stared. She couldn’t help it. Hubert had—well, Hubert had done a lot of things, but at this particular moment Ferdinand was stuck on the slight purse of her thin lips, filled in with a deep, bloody burgundy, as she inspected her nails, painted an immaculate black as they had not been in years. The hand she was not scrutinizing rested under the crook of her elbow, a familiar wand in its elegant grasp.

“Well?” Hubert drawled, without looking up. “Attend your station, Miss Aegir.”

The air of disdain unfurled heat like a blooming flame in Ferdinand’s gut, drying out her mouth until she was forced to swallow. She kept staring at Hubert as she dumbly approached the kitchen table, taking in the luxurious cape, pinned to Hubert’s shoulders by a delicate silver chain and a brooch studded with tiny green gems, the black, mock-neck blouse highlighting the graceful column of Hubert’s swan-neck, the high-waisted, slim-cut slacks that set off to great effect the long legs Ferdinand loved to worship.

Hubert strode towards her, Chelsea boots clicking against the tile of their kitchen floor. Ferdinand already wanted to drop to her knees and beg, but it would be such a shame to disrupt all of her wife’s careful planning so soon.

Yes, Ferdinand told herself, that was why she was going along with this. Respect for the clear pains Hubert had taken, and nothing else. There was a copper cauldron bubbling over with mist, multicolored fluids in various vials and flasks, a chalkboard, the lectern—the room was quite transformed.

“Hold on one second,” Ferdinand heard herself say. “Be right back.”

Ferdinand nearly tripped going up the stairs in her haste to get changed. It just seemed odd to be the only one not dressed for the part when Hubert and their kitchen already were. Thankfully, Hubert had already gone through the trouble of laying out Ferdinand’s Gryffindor sweater and tie, as well as a white blouse, black pleated skirt, black knee-length socks, and her oxfords.

That sweater had been marked for donation when they were cleaning out their old apartment, but some sentimental piece of Ferdinand hadn’t been able to let it go. So instead, she had stuffed it under a pile of other mementos and hoped Hubert wouldn’t notice.

Well, _that_ ship had certainly sailed.

She stripped down to her underwear, got as far as picking up the shirt, and paused at the sight of the whimsical bee-patterned sports bra she had put on that morning. Dorothea had sent her the link as a joke, but Ferdinand had purchased it anyways because she liked the pattern. Although it was white in color and wouldn’t show through the shirt— _not_ that Ferdinand was planning to even take the sweater off—it didn’t feel like the right tone for the moment.

Ferdinand pulled open her underwear drawer and frowned. The inside was still a haphazard mess, the chaos worse than usual between moving and getting established at her new job. Ideally something to match the general theme of Gryffindor red, but nothing too bright in hue—Ferdinand’s inner eye helpfully supplied the dark, ox-blood red of Hubert’s sole indulgence in makeup and she shivered. With a bit of determined rifling, Ferdinand found what she was after.

She was rather fond of this particular set. She liked the wine-red color, liked the lattice of decorative straps, liked the coyly placed mesh paneling that let air prickle over skin just so. Ferdinand knew Hubert liked them too because Hubert had whispered as much to her while caging her against the wall of their old apartment after their anniversary dinner last year, a hand on her mouth and a slender thigh between her legs until her wet cunt nearly soiled the boyshorts and Hubert’s dark jeans both.

Ferdinand shook that memory away to focus on putting on the rest of the outfit. After she was done, her braid was looking rather worse for the wear. Ferdinand undid the elastic at the end and shook out her hair as she descended the stairs. Her wife did so love to play with it, after all.

She was just about to round the corner where their living room met the dining area and kitchen when Hubert did so from the other side, halting Ferdinand in her tracks.

Hubert’s eyes flickered over Ferdinand from head to toe and back up. She smirked faintly, crossing her arms. For Ferdinand, it was an expression far too reminiscent of being eighteen to Hubert’s twenty and unable to identify the reason why her cheeks were suddenly so flushed.

“My, my, Miss Aegir,” Hubert said. “I would have thought you knew better than to wear your hair loose in my classroom.”

“You love seeing my hair down,” Ferdinand shot back, refraining from commenting on ‘Miss Aegir’ and even more so from examining the effect it was having on her. “And I wear it like this in the kitchen all the time.”

She tried to push past, only for Hubert to sidestep at the same time, blocking her path forward.

Hubert tutted, looking down the line of her nose as though Ferdinand was so much slime on the dungeon floor. “Failure to comply with such basic lab safety—perhaps I should be reconsidering your placement. No NEWT student should be forgetting anything so fundamental.”

Already flustered and now indignant, Ferdinand gathered her hair into a hasty bun. “There. Better?”

Hubert smiled and stepped aside to allow Ferdinand into the dining area. When Ferdinand arrived once again at her makeshift lab station, Hubert followed after and leaned in slightly as she did, breath skirting over Ferdinand’s bare neck. “Much better,” she whispered.

Ferdinand shivered, turning her head to stare up at Hubert. Now that they were standing so close, it was apparent that the boots were heeled just enough to allow Hubert to loom over Ferdinand as she had when they had first met. Hubert said something, but Ferdinand was too fascinated watching her painted lips move to pay attention.

“Huh?”

“Your homework, Miss Aegir, or shall I mark a zero for a missing assignment? I do not accept late work, as you know.”

Some bone-deep response to those words sent Ferdinand reaching automatically for her leather messenger bag. It did not, of course, contain her homework. Ferdinand looked back up to see Hubert suppressing a laugh, bringing her moment of blind panic to a grinding halt as her conscious mind caught up with the moment.

Glowering, Ferdinand crossed her arms with a huff. “‘No late work’ is an inequitable and needlessly cruel grading policy. Not very titillating, I must say.”

Hubert smirked. “Yes, but so very in character, is it not? Bring up your complaints with the headmaster if you must.”

She was right, damn her. Improvising wildly, Ferdinand assumed an expression of blank innocence and said, “You didn’t say anything about homework. It’s only the second class.”

“Time waits for nobody, Miss Aegir, and especially not in the NEWT curriculum. Had you paid attention yesterday, you would have known to check the syllabus.” Hubert’s look of mocking pity sent a heady thrill through Ferdinand, although whether from annoyance or lust, it was hard to tell. “Such an inauspicious start to your year. I trust you will do better in the future, or I really will have to remove you from the roster.”

With that, Hubert glided away in a swirl of sumptuous fabric, cape flaring behind her as she returned to the front of the ‘classroom’ to write _POISONS_ in large letters across the top of the board and underlined it with a swish of chalk. Ferdinand caught herself leaning after Hubert, longing for the proximity, for the scalpel-sharpness of her gaze.

A loud crack made Ferdinand jump, eyes snapping to the noise’s source: the wand, rapped once against the chalkboard. “Focus, Miss Aegir. We have a lesson to get through.”

The content of Hubert’s lecture was far less interesting than following the glossy black sheen of her nail polish as she gestured and wrote. Ferdinand wanted those fingers in her mouth, in her hair, buried knuckle-deep in her cunt, anywhere Hubert was willing to touch her. She hadn’t taken a chemistry class since eighth grade. All she remembered was constructing a model of a uranium atom and being jealous of her classmates who were assigned far smaller elements, like nitrogen.

There were other things she remembered much more clearly, though. Namely, “Hogwarts has a block schedule, actually, so I did not have Potions yesterday.”

Hubert did not even stop perusing her notes. “If you please, Miss Aegir,” she drawled, without looking up from the lectern, “speak only when called upon. Or did you miss the most basic rule of classroom etiquette?”

Goddess, Hubert’s voice. Ferdinand wished her wife had left her something to sit on. She wanted badly to squeeze her thighs together, anything to relieve the tension, but the dinner table was too short to hide behind. Instead, Ferdinand could only stand there, white-knuckled and cunt clenching, dampening her underwear. There was no way she was giving Hubert the satisfaction of being right—at least not so soon. Her wife could damn well work for it.

Ferdinand rolled her eyes and raised a hand. When Hubert indicated she could speak, she asked, “Can I have a chair?”

“Feeling restless?”

Very. “Not at all,” Ferdinand said.

“You may have that stool.” Hubert flicked her hand towards it. By her tone, Ferdinand understood that it was the best she was going to get on that front.

The item in question was designed for sitting at the kitchen island and was almost the same height as the dining table—therefore, utterly useless for Ferdinand’s purposes. Ferdinand gritted her teeth and dragged the stool over anyways, letting the feet screech obnoxiously against the tile floor just to watch Hubert suppress a grimace at the noise.

“Any other pointless questions, Miss Aegir, or may I proceed?”

Perched atop the stool and trying not to moan aloud at the barest friction of her thighs squeezing together, Ferdinand nodded wordlessly. Even fully clothed, she felt exposed. She very pointedly and demurely put her hands on her knees.

Hubert’s eyes glinted. “Very good.”

Whereas before Hubert had mostly been writing on the chalkboard as she lectured, she now paced around the room, circling Ferdinand like a carrion-bird. Every part of Ferdinand’s body felt over-sensitive, keenly aware of the air currents stirred by the cape swirling in Hubert’s wake, her hairs standing on end as Hubert leaned over her to point out something on the table. Before long she was fairly squirming in place, biting her lip to prevent a whine from escaping when Hubert walked away without touching her for the umpteenth time. Ferdinand was a magnet following a pole, a comet in orbit of a star, hurtling through space and burning up at a distance—

Ferdinand fell off the stool. She managed to catch herself, but not in time to avoid rattling the vials on the table and catching Hubert’s notice.

“Are you feeling faint, Miss Aegir? Overheated, perhaps?”

“Nope,” Ferdinand said, lying through her teeth. She righted the stool. “Carry on, Professor.”

“Should I?” The click of Hubert’s wooden heels as she approached was deafening, the breathless silence between each step deadly as a guillotine’s blade in free fall. “Or are there other things I should be attending to?”

A hand wrapped itself gently around Ferdinand’s neck, tilting her jaw upwards. Ferdinand inhaled sharply and shot out her hands to grip the edge of the table, not trusting herself not to collapse again at the warm press of Hubert’s body to her back.

“I would wager you haven’t heard a word I’ve said all class,” Hubert murmured, warm breath tickling Ferdinand’s ear. “Do you normally have so much trouble paying attention? You’ve been practically writhing for the last twenty minutes. Are you truly so desperate that you can’t go an hour without rubbing yourself off?”

Ferdinand whimpered. Hubert was dragging a thumb over her lips, while her other hand smoothed a meandering path over Ferdinand’s front, cupping briefly at her breast.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

A loud whine escaped Ferdinand’s lips as the last fraying strands of her self-restraint evaporated altogether. “Want you to touch me, touch me, please!”

“Hmph. Very well,” Hubert murmured, and slipped two fingers into Ferdinand’s mouth, pressing down. “It seems you won’t be able to focus otherwise. I suppose I will have to intervene.”

Ferdinand moaned around the digits, at the slow drag of Hubert’s fingertips over her tongue, as Hubert slid a hand up Ferdinand’s inner thigh, under the pleated skirt, until her deft fingers found the waistband of Ferdinand’s underwear and hooked nimbly around the elastic. With a smooth tug they fell away, catching somewhere around Ferdinand’s knees. Cotton barrier gone, Hubert could stroke directly over the length of Ferdinand’s hot cunt, sending Ferdinand’s breath skittering on a full-body shiver. “What a mess,” she murmured. “Dripping wet, just from listening to a lecture. Certainly not the behavior we expect from a Head Girl, Miss Aegir.”

Ferdinand’s mouth dropped open as Hubert parted her labia and buried a single long digit in her cunt, stroking firmly over her g-spot, palm rubbing against her clit.

“Saint’s mercy, was that all that it took to silence your yammering mouth? A finger in your greedy cunt? I should have known.” Hubert pulled her fingers free of Ferdinand’s parted lips and punctuated her words with a rough thrust to Ferdinand’s cunt. “The peace I might have enjoyed without your constant disruptions.”

Ferdinand shivered as she looked down to see Hubert place a hand on the table in front of them, the other wreaking glorious havoc under her skirt. Something about the indifference of that movement, of knowing that a single digit and honeyed, demeaning words were all her wife needed to utterly ruin her, had Ferdinand trying and failing to spread her legs against the elastic of her underwear, had her back arching as she pleaded wordlessly for more.

Hubert chuckled. “Now, my dear, let’s make this quick, hm? I know you’re a needy little harlot, but this is a school. A fine and noble institution of learning, and here you are, spreading your legs and begging for a fucking, bent over and whining for something to fill your sweet, slutty hole.” Ferdinand could hear the smirk in Hubert’s voice. “You’re wasting precious time, you know. We’re only halfway through today’s lesson.”

Ferdinand groaned, collapsing to her elbows on the table as her legs threatened to give out, unable to concentrate on anything but the finger in her cunt and the voice in her ear.

“None of that now,” Hubert tutted. “Stand on your own two feet, darling, or I resume the lecture and leave you here to beg.”

With heroic effort, Ferdinand managed to raise her head again. Hubert rewarded her by smoothing a hand up her torso to cup the base of her neck, offering the slightest pressure against her throat. “Good girl,” she murmured, and sank her teeth into the join of Ferdinand’s neck and shoulder.

Ferdinand cried out, twinging pain sending bolts of heat into her gut as her head lolled, baring more of her neck. She rocked her hips downwards, seeking out the aching, divine pressure of Hubert’s finger. “Fu- _uck_ , more, more, _please_ , more! Please!”

Hubert obliged her, adding a second finger and scissoring them on the outstroke, the stretch of it enough to make her knees buckle, the wash of boneless relief enough to send her choking momentarily against the hand on her neck.

“What did I _just_ say?” Hubert growled, tilting Ferdinand’s head back as she whined, helpless to do much more than cling to the table and try not to collapse as both fingers worked heartily at her g-spot.

“Sor-sorry!”

“I didn’t ask for an apology, I asked what I said.”

“You said to—to s-stand on my own two feet!”

“Better,” Hubert said, and bit at the corner of Ferdinand’s jaw. “Will you come like this, my darling? Underwear around your knees, falling apart so shamelessly at the seams, making such charming, filthy little noises for me?”

Ferdinand nodded blindly, eyes squeezed shut, all her senses overtaken by pleasure enough to immolate. A breathless sound escaped her, scrabbling for air as the tension in her belly reached its zenith and finally broke over her, bleeding away in small, shuddering degrees in the wake of sweet release.

Hubert held her through it, murmuring soothing praises as Ferdinand’s hips twitched, chasing the aftershocks.

“Was that still not enough for you? Very well then, Miss Aegir. Up on the table with you and spread your legs.”

Biting her lip, Ferdinand complied, still trembling from her last orgasm. Her underwear caught around her ankles, hobbling her movement. Hubert bent and pulled the boyshorts off the rest of the way, gently disentangling them and shooting Ferdinand a knowing glance before dropping them to the floor.

Then, with an expression that could almost pass for callous indifference, Hubert flipped Ferdinand’s skirt up and pinched cruelly at her inner thigh. The only signs of Hubert’s arousal were her blown pupils and her breathing, so deliberate and measured that one could have set it to a metronome. Ferdinand whimpered, fighting the urge to close her legs and hide from her wife’s piercing gaze.

Hubert curled her lip in a disdainful sneer as she watched Ferdinand’s cunt twitch and clench around nothing. “Take off that ridiculous sweater,” she ordered.

Ferdinand had been feeling very overheated and gladly pulled off the woolen garment. As soon as the sweater hit the floor, Hubert grabbed Ferdinand’s red and gold tie and wound it once around her fist, reeling her close until their faces were bare inches apart.

“Good,” Hubert said, eyes flickering with clinical detachment over Ferdinand’s face. “The shirt, now.”

Hypnotized by the proximity, Ferdinand did her best with fingers made clumsy by lust. She shook all over, the lingering heat in her core coalescing easily into a renewed anticipation as she struggled to undo the buttons, any reluctance to seem overeager the last thing her dizzy mind cared to contemplate. Ferdinand managed the first four in the initial assault, but the fifth proved unaccountably stubborn.

“Leave it,” Hubert commanded, bored. She wound the tie around her fist again, pulling Ferdinand in even closer. “Clearly even a simple task like this is beyond you right now, Miss Aegir.”

Ferdinand whined quietly, angling for a kiss, lips parted and breaths rabbit-quick, straining to close the distance. Hubert leaned away, so Ferdinand pawed weakly at Hubert’s shirt instead. “Want to touch you.”

Hubert peeled Ferdinand’s hands away with a firm grip and placed them on the table. “Not now, dear thing,” she murmured, and let out a sinister chuckle when Ferdinand made a noise of protest.

“So desperate. Perhaps I can indulge you this once,” Hubert crooned, and caught Ferdinand’s mouth in a bruising kiss. Hubert licked between her lips before biting at them, chasing tongue with teeth until they were wet and puffy. When Hubert pulled away, her lipstick was beginning to smudge, had probably smeared over Ferdinand’s own mouth as well. It was a devastating sight—Ferdinand’s cunt clenched just looking at Hubert’s hungry eyes and the dangerous curl of her severe lips, the dark burgundy color rich against her pale skin.

“Such gorgeous tits,” she said, and twisted Ferdinand’s nipple through her bralette.

Ferdinand cried out, back arching and legs straining wider as Hubert let go only to peel back the straps and scrape her blunt nails directly over the bud instead.

“So plaintive.” Hubert sneered, pinching callously at each nipple in turn. “And do not think I did not notice that you even took the time to match your underwear, Miss Aegir.”

“Don’t—don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ferdinand gasped, arching her chest to meet Hubert’s fingers.

“You’re a poor liar, my dear.” Hubert sucked a mark onto the top of Ferdinand’s exposed breast. “Coordinating with my lipstick is unsubtle, even for you.”

“Maybe I— _ah—_ just felt like looking nice today.” Ferdinand leaned back as Hubert slowly loosened her hold on the tie to kneel between her wide-spread knees. “Burgundy is a good color on lots of people, that’s why they sell so many lipsticks in the shade.”

Hubert chuckled. “Keep telling yourself that,” she said, and bit at the inside of Ferdinand’s thigh.

Ferdinand cried out in response, writhing full-bodied as Hubert nipped more bruises into her skin.

“Hold still,” Hubert grunted, and pinned Ferdinand’s stuttering hips to the table. “There’s a good girl.”

With that, she licked a broad stripe up the length of Ferdinand’s slit. Ferdinand let her head fall back, moaning helplessly as Hubert planted wet kisses over her cunt, tongue flicking teasingly over her labia.

“Please,” Ferdinand moaned. She drew her knees closer to herself to make more room for Hubert to work and stuttered out a whine when Hubert rewarded her with a languorous suck on her clit before burying her tongue in her cunt.

With nothing else to hold on to, Ferdinand grasped the table’s edge, wishing fervently that she could bury her hand in Hubert’s close-cropped black curls instead, ground herself by tangling their fingers together, anything to tether herself to reality when Hubert’s mouth was driving her relentlessly to a second peak. But her arms were trapped close to her sides, kept there by the bralette’s straps and the half-removed shirt. “Ah—ah—please, want to touch you, need to touch you, please, please!”

Hubert pulled off her clit with an obscene noise. Ferdinand glanced down to look at her wife and had to hold back a low moan, cunt twitching at the chill gusts of air washing over her with every breath.

“If you need something to do with your hands, Miss Aegir, you may amuse yourself. Or are you incapable of even that much?”

“No, no,” Ferdinand whined, equally desperate to keep Hubert’s mouth on her, “want you to keep touching me, don’t stop.”

“Why, then we are at an impasse. You will not consent to not be touched, and I will not consent to be touched while touching you.” Hubert hummed, tracing a finger over Ferdinand’s inner thigh to wipe away a smear of slick before pushing the digit into her cunt. “Perhaps we can compromise.”

“Anything, fuck, Huber—Professor, fuck!”

“Such a filthy mouth,” Hubert said, amused, working her finger just enough to keep Ferdinand gasping. “Well, if you must, you may play with your tits until I allow you to come.”

“H—how is that a compromise?” Ferdinand bit her lip and keened as Hubert guided her hand to cup her own breast and pinch a nipple. “You seem to be-benefit uni—hah—unilaterally from this counter-offer.”

“Hardly. I am still touching you, am I not? Recall that my original offer meant leaving you here to writhe unfulfilled.”

“Fine, fine, fi—ah!” Ferdinand broke off on a cry. “Please,” she begged, kneading roughly at her own chest under Hubert’s keen eye.

Hubert returned to sucking on her clit, finger back on her g-spot, humming slightly when Ferdinand arched and dragged her nails down her belly as she did. It was too much, the finger in her cunt, tongue on her clit, Hubert’s blazing green gaze, watching her touch herself at Hubert’s direction. “Fuck, gonna come, please, oh—”

Hubert lifted her mouth from Ferdinand’s clit. For a terrifying moment Ferdinand thought Hubert might deny her, might actually abandon her at her peak, was ready to say to hell with obedience and pull Hubert’s face back to her cunt and deal with the consequences later. Those few milliseconds after the loss of Hubert’s mouth seemed to stretch into eternity; an awful, yawing moment of uncertainty before it was replaced with a thumb rubbing tight circles and making Ferdinand sob with wholehearted relief.

“Yes, come for me, Ferdinand, my good girl, I want to see you fall to pieces like the slut you are.” Hubert licked her lips, smeared with Ferdinand’s arousal and the remnants of her lipstick. “So gorgeous, so lovely, such a sweet little thing, begging and crying for anything I’m willing to give.”

Ferdinand’s head fell back as she came, toes curling, her whole body thrumming like a plucked string. Distantly she could feel Hubert biting at the base of her throat and gasped, struggling to recover any sense of equilibrium. Hubert gentled her through the aftermath until she could relax, twitching slightly as the finger in her cunt withdrew.

Dazed, she could only watch as Hubert stepped away and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing her face dry of Ferdinand’s slick. Peering into a small handheld mirror, Hubert wiped away the places where her lipstick had smudged and reapplied a uniform coat, until it was as though she had never touched Ferdinand at all.

Meanwhile Ferdinand was splayed out boneless on the table, loose strands of hair falling from the bun, breasts spilling from her rucked-aside shirt and bralette, tie askew and cunt still bared. All her nerve endings were still sparking irregularly, a mess of loose, frayed wires.

With a businesslike click, the mirror shut and disappeared back into the same pocket as the handkerchief. “What are you waiting for? Put your clothes back on, we have a lesson to get through.”

With a groan of immense reluctance, Ferdinand pushed herself upright and slid off the table, testing her knees only to find they were decidedly wobblier than when all this had started. She reached up to pull her bralette back to rights but paused, biting her lip to suppress a smile as another mischievous impulse struck her. “Are you sure, Professor?”

“Are you questioning me, Miss Aegir?”

“Maybe I should stay like this.” Ferdinand saw the glint in Hubert’s eyes they lingered on the bruises blooming on her skin, her bare breasts, her rumpled clothes. She wanted to see that iron will falter, had seen the cracks already even as Hubert wrung cry after cry from her lips. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your handiwork.”

There was another hairline fissure in the marble – the curl of Hubert’s fingers around the lectern’s lip. “Very well,” she said.

It was well worth the slight discomfort of sitting there another twenty minutes with her bralette’s straps digging into her upper arms when every shift of her shoulders drew Hubert’s eyes to her, every twirl of her finger around a lock of hair dragged a rasp from Hubert’s throat, every tilt of her head brought forth a dart of pink tongue to Hubert’s lips. The fissures branched and spread; the dispassionate mask was slipping. Ferdinand wanted to see it shatter.

To Hubert’s immense credit, she managed to get to the end of her lecture notes with hardly a stutter, barely a hitch in her breath to give away her unabashed staring. As the last few words dissipated into the air, though, it became immediately obvious that that had been the full extent of Hubert’s patience.

Hubert threw aside her stick of chalk and crossed the room in three long strides, just enough time for Ferdinand to turn and be met with the crash of painted lips on her own.

“Fuck, Ferdinand,” Hubert was growling, when she was done kissing Ferdinand breathless and had switched to scraping her teeth down the line of Ferdinand’s throat. She barely paused to drag Ferdinand to her feet by the hair. “Such a perfect mess, sitting there with your tits out, wouldn’t even wipe your pretty, slutty lips.”

Ferdinand stumbled blindly after her, gasping as Hubert let go of the skin she was worrying between her teeth. Hubert steered them around furniture and up the stairs, relentless and inexorable, until Ferdinand fell abruptly back onto their bed, bun spilling out of its elastic.

“Stay,” Hubert ordered, when Ferdinand pushed herself up onto her elbows to watch her. “If I see you so much as twitch, I am tying you up and leaving you there.”

Hubert turned her attention away to undo the clasps of her cloak. Ferdinand made a dismayed noise at that. She had rather been hoping to be allowed to remove it herself.

With that essential item stowed safely away, Hubert stalked back to the bed and straddled Ferdinand’s torso, deliberately not touching Ferdinand except to wind a hand in her hair and pull her head to the side. Ferdinand whined, fighting to stay still despite every urge to arch up and spread her legs. The one concession she allowed herself was to grab fistfuls of the sheets, something to hold onto and ground herself.

“You _are_ a greedy little thing,” Hubert hissed into her ear, no doubt delighted to watch Ferdinand squirm. “What, two orgasms weren’t enough? Tell me, my dear, why should I give you what you want when you have done nothing but misbehave and talk back all day?”

“I’ll be good, I’ll be good!” Ferdinand was babbling now, the fingers twisted tight in her hair driving all sense from her brain. “I’m sorry for being a brat, just let me—let me—please, can I take the rest off for you?”

Hubert chuckled. “I don’t think you mean it when you apologize like that. Perhaps it’s my fault for being too indulgent, giving you so many second chances.”

“No, no, I mean it, I do, please let me be good for you!” Ferdinand gasped, scalp tingling with relief as Hubert let go of her hair. “Please, please, please—”

Ferdinand’s breath left her in a huff as Hubert put a hand to her sternum and pushed her flat against the bed. “Listen very carefully, Miss Aegir,” Hubert said, enunciating, hungry green eyes boring into Ferdinand’s. “You may undress me. If you’re a good girl and don’t complain or get distracted, I might let you lick my cunt. Otherwise, I am finishing myself off while you watch, bound and gagged. Am I understood?”

Ferdinand nodded frantically.

“Good girl.” Hubert shuffled backwards off the bed and stood. “Take off your tie and shoes, and then I want to see you kneel.”

Ferdinand scrambled to obey, dropping to the ground at Hubert’s feet before the tie even had time to flutter to the ground.

The corner of Hubert’s lips twitched upwards. “Very good.” She caressed Ferdinand’s neck and jaw as she passed, humming softly. “Turn around.”

Ferdinand swiveled herself so that she was facing the foot of the bed. Hubert sat on the edge of the mattress, legs crossed and chin in hand as she watched Ferdinand through lidded eyes. “My shoes first, I think.”

Those boots had been taunting her all day. The shape of them around Hubert’s delicate ankles, the click of the heel on tile, all driving her mad step by measured step. Ferdinand reached automatically for Hubert’s foot, only for it to be pulled out of her grasp.

“What do we say first, Miss Aegir?”

Ferdinand just barely managed to click her mouth shut before she could shoot back a retort and lose the chance altogether. Bondage was all well and good, and watching Hubert was its own pleasure, but she really did want to peel those slacks off and taste Hubert’s wet cunt. “Please,” Ferdinand said instead.

“You spend so much time begging, you’re really going to have to be more specific.”

Ferdinand had to close her eyes at that, against the searing wash of heat down her spine. “Please may I take your boots off?”

“Good girl. See what you get when you behave?” Hubert uncrossed her legs, allowing Ferdinand to reverently lift one booted heel into her lap.

Ferdinand carefully eased the shoe off Hubert’s foot and placed it neatly to the side. She pulled off the sock, revealing blue veins under the skin. Hubert groaned slightly when Ferdinand massaged her arch and the Achilles tendon, sighed when Ferdinand slipped her hands under the cuff of Hubert’s slacks to knead her calf. Ferdinand did the same for the other side, this time pressing a kiss to the ankle as she peeled away the sock.

“Exemplary work,” Hubert murmured. “As a reward, you may pick which garment to remove next.”

“Shirt,” Ferdinand said, with no hesitation. “Please,” she added, belatedly.

“Very well.” Hubert beckoned Ferdinand to kneel up between her legs and sat forward so that Ferdinand could undo the buttons.

The position offered the additional benefit of putting Hubert’s chest at Ferdinand’s eye level as the closure fell aside to show her plain black bra and porcelain skin. Ferdinand smoothed the blouse away, thrilling at how Hubert’s breath hitched under her hands.

“You might as well remove the bra while you’re here.”

Ferdinand reached around to unclasp it, close enough to feel the warmth of Hubert’s chest against her cheek. It was a struggle and a half to not nuzzle into it, to resist the burning temptation to take the blush-pink of Hubert’s nipple into her mouth and give it the attention it deserved.

“Down.”

Ferdinand sank back onto her heels, dizzy with a jarring mixture of relief and frustration as she awaited her next instruction. Even though she was technically wearing more than Hubert at this point, she still felt like the naked one. The weight of Hubert’s intent stare was a caress in its own right, stripping Ferdinand bare under the memory of countless gazes, loving and lustful both. Ferdinand was lost in it, mesmerized utterly as Hubert hooked a knee over her shoulder, drawing her in until her nose was a bare inch away from the crotch of Hubert’s pants.

This close, Ferdinand could see the barest beginnings of a damp spot, could smell the faintest trace of wetness. It was enough for saliva to pool behind her tongue in anticipation. She carefully dragged her gaze back up to meet Hubert’s eyes, searching for permission.

“Go ahead.”

Ferdinand swallowed and set to work undoing the fly. She couldn’t help turning her head to press a lingering kiss to the pale skin of Hubert’s thigh as it was exposed to the air.

A hand settled on her head. “Don’t get distracted.”

Ferdinand resumed her task, pulling the slacks off the rest of the way. Hubert’s legs were long and graceful, and seeing them bared like this was a privilege Ferdinand held near and dear to her heart. Her pulse quickened in anticipation as she mentally re-catalogued all the places Hubert liked to be kissed, marked, licked, and teased, a perfect map of action and reaction that would have made any cartographer jealous.

Ferdinand was so absorbed in thinking about the breathy moan that always came when she nibbled at the spot just shy of the underside of Hubert’s thigh that she almost missed Hubert hooking a finger under the elastic of her black cotton briefs. “No, no, let me—” she blurted, before her brain caught up and slapped a hand over her mouth a few seconds too late.

“What was that?” Hubert said, low and dangerous. The hand on her head felt much heavier all of a sudden.

“Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I promise, I’ll do better, be so good for you—”

“I don’t want to hear excuses, Miss Aegir.”

Ferdinand lay her head on Hubert’s thigh, giving her wife the most plaintive fuck-me look she could muster. “Please?”

There it was—a tiny stutter on the exhale, the miniscule tensing of her core, the slightest falter in Hubert’s icy mask. Ferdinand went in for the kill, lowering her eyelashes and turning just enough for her lips to brush skin.

Hubert curled her lip in scorn so palpable that Ferdinand couldn’t have feigned the shuddering moan that left her if she tried. “And you were doing so well, my dear.”

The hand atop Ferdinand’s head seized tight on a fistful of hair and wrenched her away. She yelped in surprise as Hubert stood, catching herself on her hands before the momentum could topple her backwards. “Did you think that would work? That you would just flutter your eyelashes and get away with it?”

“No,” Ferdinand said.

“Really? I could’ve sworn that’s what I just saw you try to do.”

“Just wanted to be good.” She whined, arching her back in a last-ditch attempt to distract Hubert with her breasts. “Please, let me make it up to you!”

It didn’t work, exactly, except to relieve a bit of the tension on her scalp. At the very least, Ferdinand got to watch Hubert’s eyes snap momentarily down to her bare tits and peaked nipples before her head was pushed down until her forehead met plush carpet. “Stay there. And be quiet.”

In her peripheral vision, Ferdinand saw Hubert walk around the side of the bed. After rummaging for a moment in their bedside drawer, she returned. “Arms out and behind you,” she ordered.

Ferdinand obeyed.

“I expressly said not to get distracted,” Hubert said, as she wound the rope around Ferdinand’s wrists. “But what did you do?”

“Get distracted,” Ferdinand said, into the floor.

“Exactly. And then when I scolded you, what did you do?”

“I said I was sorry.”

“That’s not all you did.” Hubert braced a palm between Ferdinand’s shoulder blades and pulled the rope through the center.

“Oh, you mean when I tried that thing where—”

Hubert pinched her rear.

“Ow,” Ferdinand said, more to be contrary than anything else. “You didn’t even let me finish my sentence.”

“You’re not in much position to be cheeky, my dear.” The rope went through one last time. “How is the tightness?”

Ferdinand flexed her shoulders and chest, but found her wrists bound securely together. The cuffs did not tighten as she struggled, but neither was there any give. She wriggled her arms a little for good measure, testing for slippage, and then clenched and opened her fists a few times. “Feels good to me.”

“What’s the safeword?”

“Adrestia.”

“Good.” Hubert buried her hand in the curls at Ferdinand’s nape and pulled her upright. “Now, Miss Aegir, will I have to gag you as well?”

“ _No_ ,” Ferdinand whined. Goddess, how was Hubert still so put-together? If Ferdinand had still been wearing underwear, they would have been a lost cause by now.

“Just as well,” Hubert murmured. “Wouldn’t want to ruin these briefs by putting them in your whore mouth.”

Ferdinand bit her lip to stifle a moan at the words and at the tantalizing glimpse of Hubert’s nude form as she passed Ferdinand to sit on the edge of the bed again. She wanted so badly to shuffle closer, to be allowed to bury her face between Hubert’s thighs until they seized tight around her ears.

“Now, what should I do with you?” Hubert tsked. “My mouthy little slut, who can’t even follow simple instructions. I’ve spoiled you, clearly, getting you off twice. I even thought to let you rut on my leg if you managed to earn the privilege of licking my cunt. I can’t very well allow you to continue misbehaving like this.”

It was hard to regret misbehaving when it reaped such sweet consequences, every cutting word pricking heat down Ferdinand’s spine.

Hubert patted her knee. “Come here. Not too hasty, though. I already know you’re a needy bitch; there’s no need to give yourself a bloody nose trying to prove it.”

Ferdinand gave Hubert a brief stink-eye at the reminder but edged closer until Hubert could put a hand to her jaw.

“I can’t help but think you owe me, dear thing, for taking such good care of you.” Hubert traced her thumb over Ferdinand’s upper lip, smirking faintly as Ferdinand parted her mouth on a sigh. “I’d already be using that insolent tongue of yours to get myself off, but, well, there’s no telling what kind of mischief you’d get up to if I kept being so lenient. It just isn’t enough of a punishment to tie you up and ride your face, not when you’ve been begging all day for a taste.”

Ferdinand drew Hubert’s thumb into her mouth, whining softly and sucking.

“A compromise, perhaps,” Hubert said, eyes darkening as she watched Ferdinand let go of her thumb and move on to kissing and nipping at her palm and wrist. “I’d still like to put those pretty pink lips to my cunt, but I think a shameless little whore like you needs to be taught a greater lesson. How is that greedy hole of yours doing?”

Without waiting for Ferdinand to respond, Hubert used her toes to flip Ferdinand’s skirt back up and slotted her foot between Ferdinand’s legs. Ferdinand whimpered at the unexpected contact, hips twitching as Hubert’s shin met her clit, still sensitive from two previous orgasms. Hubert’s foot withdrew, the top shining with new moisture.

“Dripping wet as always, I see. Excellent.” Hubert spread her legs, pulling her hand from Ferdinand’s face to draw a graceful finger up the line of her own slick cunt. “Suck.”

Ferdinand eagerly took it into her mouth up to the knuckle, savoring the slight tang and the musky smell.

“I think I will be using that filthy mouth of yours after all. I’ll let you get all desperate the way you always do when there’s a cunt on your face, and then I’m not going to let you come for a week. How does that sound?”

A _week?_ Ferdinand made an indignant noise. A week wasn’t that bad, really – they were both adults working full-time jobs, after all – but it was the principle of the thing.

Hubert laughed. “Well, good girls get to use their hands, and slutty, desperate brats get tied up, used, and don’t get a third orgasm in a row. Rather lenient of me, all in all.”

Hard to argue with that. Ferdinand let Hubert pull the finger out of her mouth and guide her closer.

By now, Hubert’s cunt was well and truly drenched, the labia swollen and flushed and her clit peeking slightly from under its hood. Ferdinand inhaled deeply, mouth open to draw the scent of it over her tongue. She could see Hubert’s cunt clench at the stir of her breath, was moaning even before Hubert pushed her down to meet the slick hole.

Hubert hissed, trembling at the first touch of Ferdinand’s tongue, legs spreading wider to make more space for it. “Fuck, so good,” she moaned. “So good, Ferdinand, just like that.”

Ferdinand moaned too, pushing herself closer. She licked in broad strokes over Hubert’s labia, chasing the slick where it had smeared and lapping it clean.

“Oh, you do so love the taste, don’t you, you wanton thing?” Hubert pulled her up by the hair, dragging a whine out of Ferdinand as she was redirected to Hubert’s clit. “Just think, my dear, if you hadn’t been such a brat, I would have let you take your time. You— _hnn_ —you could have had your hands on me, could have been fucking me with your fingers while your tongue was on my clit. Your lovely, strong hands,” Hubert sighed, “calloused fingers stroking inside me, touching my nipples, holding my legs just— _just_ so.”

Hubert’s heel dug into the muscle of Ferdinand’s back as she arched, gasping. Ferdinand groaned around her clit and massaged it with renewed vigor.

“Did you enjoy that, my dear?” Hubert panted. A pink flush was spreading over her chest. “Perhaps next time I can keep the boots on, leave a lovely bruise right there, a little memento to remind you who you belong to.”

Ferdinand whined. Her arms strained against the rope, fingers grasping compulsively at nothing. She was pressed so close that her nipples were rubbing against the sheets, nothing more than an insubstantial tease that had her cunt clenching and hips rolling into empty air.

“Keep your legs apart,” Hubert commanded. “I don’t want you so much as rubbing your thighs together while you’re su—sucking my clit.” Her chin dropped to her chest as she panted, more breathless by the second. “Ah—Ferdinand!”

It didn’t take long for Hubert to come, keening, thighs clamping tight around Ferdinand’s ears and slick coating Ferdinand’s chin. Ferdinand kept sucking on her clit throughout, gaze fixed on her wife’s flushed cheeks and parted lips, the way her chest heaved as she shook to pieces.

She stayed there until Hubert eased her off with shaking hands and a gasp. While Hubert was still limp from post-orgasmic exhaustion, Ferdinand took the opportunity to kiss her inner thighs, nosing gently along towards the bend of her knee.

“You really are insatiable, aren’t you?” Hubert crooned, a little raspy around the edges. “It’s too bad I can’t ride your face while your hands are tied like this. I know you enjoy it, being put in your place like that.”

Ferdinand nodded, forehead pressed to Hubert’s thigh. Goddess, Hubert really did mean to torture her. The next week was going to be sweet agony, she could tell already.

Hubert eased Ferdinand onto the bed with a steadying hand until Ferdinand was straddling her lap, head tucked against her neck. “You did well,” she murmured, smoothing her hands down Ferdinand’s arms until she could start picking apart the knotted rope. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Ferdinand said, which was true, apart from the lust still writhing restlessly in her core. Nevertheless, it was wonderful to be pressed so close against Hubert’s bare skin. “How about you? You have to untie me anyways, so you could still sit on my face, if you wanted.”

Hubert mumbled something. It sounded like an incredulous _‘How do you still have so much energy?’_ “No, I’m done,” she said, once the rope fell to the ground. “How are your hands?”

Ferdinand watched Hubert massage them, testing the range of motion down to her fingertips and up her forearms to her biceps and shoulders. “They are good. No numbness, no pain.”

“Good.” Hubert pulled Ferdinand’s shirttails out and undid the last few buttons. Then she unzipped the skirt. “How about your knees?”

“Also good.” Ferdinand slid briefly off of the bed to let the skirt fall onto the floor, then sat down to peel the socks off her feet. “Are you absolutely sure you do not want to sit on my face?”

She could almost hear Hubert’s fond eyeroll. “I’m sure. Setting up the kitchen took a while, and then I had to give my lecture in heels to a _very_ recalcitrant student.”

Ferdinand laughed, crawling back onto the bed to join her wife under the covers. “Well, I am sure they appreciated you taking the time.”

“They better.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“There is one thing that is bothering me, though,” Ferdinand said, once they had aligned themselves for a good long cuddle. “You hate spending money. You did not even know I would like this. And yet that cloak looks as if you spent quite a bit.”

“Some things are worth it,” Hubert murmured into her shoulder. “Also, what do you mean, ‘I didn’t even know you’d like it’? My dear, that was patently obvious to anyone who cared to look.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here are some titles I sadly nixed:  
> wingardi-cum leviosa (courtesy of @vanvii)  
> expecto patron-ass (also vanvii)  
> levicor-pussy  
> Ferdinand von Aegir and the Chamber of Secrets  
> [If I had been able to come up with a pun on _Half-Blood Prince_ you bet your ass that would have been the title.]
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic, please leave a kudos and/or a comment! They are much appreciated. Or you can find me on my brand new Twitter [@qwertyblurty](https://twitter.com/qwertyblurty).


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